The Tatler (Vol 4)

There is, methinks, some excuse for being particular when one of the offspring has any defect in nature. In this case, the child, if we may so speak, is so much the longer the child of its parents, and calls for the continuance of their care and indulgence from the slowness of its capacity, or the weakness of its body. But there is no enduring to see men enamoured only at the sight of their own impertinences repeated, and to observe, as we may sometimes, that they have a secret dislike of their children for a degeneracy from their very crimes. Commend me to Lady Goodly; she is equal to all her own children, but prefers them to those of all the world beside. My lady is a perfect hen in the care of her brood; she fights and squabbles with all that appear where they come, but is wholly unbiassed in dispensing her favours among them. It is no small pains she is at to defame all the young women in her neighbourhood by visits, whispers, intimations, and hearsays; all which she ends with thanking Heaven, that no one living is so blessed with such obedient and well-inclined children as herself. Perhaps, says she, Betty cannot dance like Mrs. Frontinett, and it is no great matter whether she does or not; but she comes into a room with a good grace; though she says it that should not, she looks like a gentlewoman. Then if Mrs. Rebecca is not so talkative as the mighty wit Mrs. Clapper, yet she is discreet, she knows better what she says when she does speak. If her wit be slow, her tongue never runs before it. This kind parent lifts up her eyes and hands in congratulation of her own good fortune, and is maliciously thankful that none of her girls are like any of her neighbours: but this preference of her own to all others, is grounded upon an impulse of nature; while those who like one before another of their own, are so unpardonably unjust, that it could hardly be equalled in the children, though they preferred all the rest of the world to such parents. It is no unpleasant entertainment to see a ball at a dancing-school, and observe the joy of relations when the young ones, for whom they are concerned, are in motion. You need not be told whom the dancers belong to: at their first appearance the passion of their parents are in their faces, and there is always a nod of approbation stolen at a good step, or a graceful turn.

I remember among all my acquaintance but one man whom I have thought to live with his children with equanimity and a good grace. He had three sons and one daughter, whom he bred with all the care imaginable in a liberal and ingenuous way.134 I have often heard him say, he had the weakness to love one much better than the other, but that he took as much pains to correct that as any other criminal passion that could arise in his mind. His method was, to make it the only pretension in his children to his favour to be kind to each other; and he would tell them, that he who was the best brother, he would reckon the best son. This turned their thoughts into an emulation for the superiority in kind and tender affection towards each other. The boys behaved themselves very early with a manly friendship; and their sister, instead of the gross familiarities and impertinent freedoms in behaviour, usual in other houses, was always treated by them with as much complaisance as any other young lady of their acquaintance. It was an unspeakable pleasure to visit or sit at meal in that family. I have often seen the old man's heart flow at his eyes with joy upon occasions which would appear indifferent to such as were strangers to the turn of his mind; but a very slight accident, wherein he saw his children's good-will to one another, created in him the God-like pleasure of loving them, because they loved each other.135 This great command of himself, in hiding his first impulse to partiality, at last improved to a steady justice towards them; and that which at first was but an expedient to correct his weakness, was afterwards the measure of his virtue.

The truth of it is, those parents who are interested in the care of one child more than that of another, no longer deserve the name of parents, but are in effect as childish as their children, in having such unreasonable and ungovernable inclinations. A father of this sort has degraded himself into one of his own offspring; for none but a child would take part in the passions of children.

No. 236. [Steele. 136

From Tuesday, Oct. 10, to Thursday, Oct. 12, 1710

Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine mentemTangit, et immemorem non sinit esse sui.Ovid, Ep. ex Pont. 1. iii.From my own Apartment, Oct. 11

I find in the registers of my family, that the branch of the Bickerstaffs from which I am descended, came originally out of Ireland.137 This has given me a kind of natural affection for that country. It is therefore with pleasure that I see not only some of the greatest warriors, but also of the greatest wits, to be natives of that kingdom. The gentleman who writes the following letter is one of these last. The matter of fact contained in it is literally true, though the diverting manner in which it is told may give it the colour of a fable.

To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., at his House in Great BritainDublin.

"Sir,

"Finding by several passages of your Tatlers, that you are a person curious in natural knowledge, I thought it would not be unacceptable to you to give you the following history of the migration of frogs into this country. There is an ancient tradition among the wild philosophers of the kingdom, that this whole island was once as much infested by frogs, as that wherein Whittington made his fortune was by mice; insomuch that it is said, Macdonald the First could no more sleep by reason of these Dutch nightingales (as they are called at Paris), than Pharaoh could when they croaked in his bed-chamber. It was in the reign of this great monarch that St. Patrick arrived in Ireland, being as famous for destroying vermin as any rat-catcher of our times. If we may believe the tradition, he killed more in one day than a flock of storks could have done in a twelvemonth. From that time for about five hundred years, there was not a frog to be heard in Ireland, notwithstanding the bogs still remained, which in former ages had been so plentifully stocked with those inhabitants.

"When the arts began to flourish in the reign of King Charles the Second, and that great monarch had placed himself at the head of the Royal Society, to lead them forward into the discoveries of nature, it is said, that several proposals were laid before his Majesty for the importing of frogs into Ireland. In order to it, a virtuoso of known abilities was unanimously elected by the Society, and entrusted with the whole management of that affair. For this end he took along with him a sound, able-bodied frog, of a strong, hale constitution, that had given proof of his vigour by several leaps which he made before that learned body. They took ship, and sailed together till they came within sight of the Hill of Howth, before the frog discovered any symptoms of being indisposed by his voyage: but as the wind chopped about, and began to blow from the Irish coast, he grew sea-sick, or rather land-sick; for his learned companion ascribed it to the particles of the soil with which the wind was impregnated. He was confirmed in his conjecture, when, upon the wind's turning about, his fellow-traveller sensibly recovered, and continued in good health till his arrival upon the shore, where he suddenly relapsed, and expired upon a Ring's End car138 on his way to Dublin. The same experiment was repeated several times in that reign, but to no purpose. A frog was never known to take three leaps upon Irish turf, before he stretched himself out and died.

"Whether it were that the philosophers on this side the water despaired of stocking the island with this useful animal, or whether in the following reign it was not thought proper to undo the miracle of a Popish saint, I do not hear of any further progress made in this affair till about two years after the battle of the Boyne.

"It was then that an ingenious physician,139 to the honour as well as improvement of his native country, performed what the English had been so long attempting in vain. This learned man, with the hazard of his life, made a voyage to Liverpool, where he filled several barrels with the choicest spawn of frogs that could be found in those parts. This cargo he brought over very carefully, and afterwards disposed of it in several warm beds that he thought most capable of bringing it to life. The doctor was a very ingenious physician, and a very good Protestant; for which reason, to show his zeal against Popery, he placed some of the most promising spawn in the very fountain that is dedicated to the Saint, and known by the name of St. Patrick's Well, where these animals had the impudence to make their first appearance. They have since that time very much increased and multiplied in all the neighbourhood of this city. We have here some curious inquirers into natural history who observe their motions, with a design to compute in how many years they will be able to hop from Dublin to Wexford; though, as I am informed, not one of them has yet passed the mountains of Wicklow.

"I am further informed, that several graziers of the county of Cork have entered into a project of planting a colony in those parts, at the instance of the French Protestants: and I know not but the same design may be on foot in other parts of the kingdom, if the wisdom of the British nation do not think fit to prohibit the further importation of English frogs. I am,

"Sir,"Your most humble Servant,"T. B."

There is no study more becoming a rational creature than that of natural philosophy; but as several of our modern virtuosos manage it, their speculations do not so much tend to open and enlarge the mind, as to contract and fix it upon trifles.

This in England is in a great measure owing to the worthy elections that are so frequently made in our Royal Society.140 They seem to be in a confederacy against men of polite genius, noble thought, and diffusive learning; and choose into their assemblies such as have no pretence to wisdom, but want of wit; or to natural knowledge, but ignorance of everything else. I have made observations in this matter so long, that when I meet with a young fellow that is a humble admirer of the sciences, but more dull than the rest of the company, I conclude him to be a Fellow of the Royal Society.

No. 237. [? Steele. 141

From Thursday, Oct. 12, to Saturday, Oct. 14, 1710

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formasCorpora. —Ovid, Met. i. 1.From my own Apartment, Oct. 13

Coming home last night before my usual hour, I took a book into my hand, in order to divert myself with it till bed-time. Milton chanced to be my author, whose admirable poem of "Paradise Lost" serves, at once, to fill the mind with pleasing ideas, and with good thoughts, and was therefore the most proper book for my purpose. I was amusing myself with that beautiful passage in which the poet represents Eve sleeping by Adam's side, with the devil sitting at her ear, and inspiring evil thoughts under the shape of a toad. Ithuriel, one of the guardian angels of the place, walking his nightly rounds, saw the great enemy of mankind hid in this loathsome animal, which he touched with his spear. This spear being of a celestial temper, had such a secret virtue in it, that whatever it was applied to, immediately flung off all disguise, and appeared in its natural figure. I am afraid the reader will not pardon me if I content myself with explaining the passage in prose, without giving it in the author's own inimitable words:

– On he led his radiant files,Dazzling the morn: these to the bower direct,In search of whom they sought. Him there they found,Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve;Essaying by his devilish art to reachThe organs of her fancy, and with them forgeIllusions as he list, phantasms and dreams;Or if, inspiring venom, he might taintThe animal spirits (that from pure blood ariseLike gentle breaths from rivers pure), thence raiseAt least distempered, discontented thoughts,Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires,Blown up with high conceits, engendering pride.Him thus intent, Ithuriel with his spearTouched lightly; for no falsehood can endureTouch of celestial temper, but returnsOf force to his own likeness. Up he starts,Discovered and surprised. As when a sparkLights on a heap of nitrous powder, laidFit for the tun, some magazine to storeAgainst a rumoured war, the smutty grain,With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air;So started up in his own shape the fiend. 142

I could not forbear thinking how happy a man would be in the possession of this spear; or what an advantage it would be to a Minister of State, were he master of such a white staff. It would let him discover his friends from his enemies, men of abilities from pretenders: it would hinder him from being imposed upon by appearances and professions, and might be made use of as a kind of State test, which no artifice could elude.

These thoughts made very lively impressions on my imagination, which were improved, instead of being defaced by sleep, and produced in me the following dream: I was no sooner fallen asleep, but, methought, the angel Ithuriel appeared to me, and with a smile that still added to his celestial beauty, made me a present of the spear which he held in his hand, and disappeared. To make trials of it, I went into a place of public resort.

The first person that passed by me, was a lady that had a particular shyness in the cast of her eye, and a more than ordinary reservedness in all the parts of her behaviour. She seemed to look upon man as an obscene creature, with a certain scorn and fear of him. In the height of her airs I touched her gently with my wand, when, to my unspeakable surprise, she fell upon her back, and kicked up her heels in such a manner as made me blush in my sleep. As I was hasting away from this undisguised prude, I saw a lady in earnest discourse with another, and overheard her say with some vehemence, "Never tell me of him, for I am resolved to die a virgin!" I had a curiosity to try her; but as soon as I laid my wand upon her head, she immediately fell in labour. My eyes were diverted from her by a man and his wife, who walked near me hand-in-hand after a very loving manner. I gave each of them a gentle tap, and the next instant saw the woman in breeches, and the man with a fan in his hand. It would be tedious to describe the long series of metamorphoses that I entertained myself with in my night's adventure, of Whigs disguised in Tories, and Tories in Whigs; men in red coats that denounced terror in their countenances, trembling at the touch of my spear; others in black with peace in their mouths, but swords in their hands. I could tell stories of noblemen changed into usurers, and magistrates into beadles; of free-thinkers into penitents, and reformers into whoremasters. I must not, however, omit the mention of a grave citizen that passed by me with a huge clasped Bible under his arm, and a band of most immoderate breadth; but upon a touch on the shoulder, he let drop his book, and fell a-picking my pocket.

In the general I observed, that those who appeared good, often disappointed my expectation; but that, on the contrary, those who appeared very bad, still grew worse upon the experiment; as the toad in Milton, which one would have thought the most deformed part of the creation, at Ithuriel's stroke, became more deformed, and started up into a devil.

Among all the persons that I touched, there was but one who stood the test of my wand; and after many repetitions of the stroke, stuck to his form, and remained steady and fixed in his first appearance. This was a young man who boasted of foul distempers, wild debauches, insults upon holy men, and affronts to religion.

My heart was extremely troubled at this vision: the contemplation of the whole species, so entirely sunk in corruption, filled my mind with a melancholy that is inexpressible, and my discoveries still added to my affliction.

In the midst of these sorrows which I had in my heart, methought there passed by me a couple of coaches with purple liveries. There sat in each of them a person with a very venerable aspect. At the appearance of them, the people who were gathered round me in great multitudes divided into parties, as they were disposed to favour either of those reverend persons. The enemies of one of them begged me to touch him with my wand, and assured me, I should see his lawn converted into a cloak. The opposite party told me with as much assurance, that if I laid my wand upon the other, I should see his garments embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, and his head covered with a cardinal's cap. I made the experiment, and, to my great joy, saw them both, without any change, distributing their blessings to the people, and praying for those who had reviled them. Is it possible, thought I, that good men, who are so few in number, should be divided among themselves, and give better quarter to the vicious that are in their party, than the most strictly virtuous who are out of it? Are the ties of faction above those of religion? – I was going on in my soliloquies, but some sudden accident awakened me, when I found my hand grasped, but my spear gone. The reflection on so very odd a dream made me figure to myself, what a strange face the world would bear, should all mankind appear in their proper shapes and characters, without hypocrisy and disguise? I am afraid the earth we live upon would appear to other intellectual beings no better than a planet peopled with monsters. This should, methinks, inspire us with an honest ambition of recommending ourselves to those invisible spies, and of being what we would appear. There was one circumstance in my foregoing dream which I at first intended to conceal; but upon second thoughts, I cannot look upon myself as a candid and impartial historian, if I do not acquaint my reader, that upon taking Ithuriel's spear into my hand, though I was before an old decrepid fellow, I appeared a very handsome, jolly, black man. But I know my enemies will say, this is praising my own beauty, for which reason I will speak no more of it.

No. 238. [Steele and Swift. 143

From Saturday, Oct. 14, to Tuesday, Oct. 17, 1710

– Poetica surgitTempestas —Juv., Sat. xii. 23.From my own Apartment, Oct. 16

Storms at sea are so frequently described by the ancient poets, and copied by the moderns, that whenever I find the winds begin to rise in a new heroic poem, I generally skip a leaf or two till I come into fair weather. Virgil's Tempest is a masterpiece in this kind, and is indeed so naturally drawn, that one who has made a voyage can scarce read it without being sea-sick.

Land showers are no less frequent among the poets than the former, but I remember none of them which have not fallen in the country; for which reason they are generally filled with the lowings of oxen and the bleatings of sheep, and very often embellished with a rainbow.

Virgil's Land Shower is likewise the best in its kind: it is indeed a shower of consequence, and contributes to the main design of the poem, by cutting off a tedious ceremonial, and bringing matters to a speedy conclusion between two potentates of different sexes. My ingenious kinsman, Mr. Humphrey Wagstaff, who treats of every subject after a manner that no other author has done, and better than any other can do, has sent me the description of a City Shower. I do not question but the reader remembers my cousin's description of the Morning as it breaks in town, which is printed in the ninth Tatler, and is another exquisite piece of this local poetry:

Careful observers may foretell the hour(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower:While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'erHer frolics, and pursues her tail no more.Returning home at night, you'll find the sinkStrike your offended sense with double stink.If you be wise, then go not far to dine,You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.A coming shower your shooting corns presage,Old aches throb,144 your hollow tooth will rage.Saunt'ring in coffee-house is Dulman seen;He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.Meanwhile the south rising with dabbled wings,A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,That swilled more liquor than it could contain,And like a drunkard gives it up again.Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope,While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope.Such is that sprinkling which some careless queanFlirts on you from her mop, but not so clean.You fly, invoke the gods; then turning, stopTo rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop.Not yet the dust had shunned th'unequal strife,But aided by the wind, fought still for life;And wafted with its foe by violent gust,'Twas doubtful which was rain and which was dust.Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,When dust and rain at once his coat invade;His only coat, where dust confused with rainRoughen the nap, and leave a mingled stain.Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,Threatening with deluge this devoted town.To shops in crowds the daggled females fly,Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.The tucked-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,While streams run down her oiled umbrella's sides.Here various kinds by various fortunes led,Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.Triumphant Tories and desponding WhigsForget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.Boxed in a chair the beau impatient sits,While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits;And ever and anon with frightful dinThe leather sounds, he trembles from within.So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed,Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed.(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,Instead of paying chairmen, run them through.)Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,And each imprisoned hero quaked for fear.Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,And bear their trophies with them as they go:Filth of all hues and odours seem to tellWhat street they sailed from, by their sight and smell.They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their course,And in huge confluent joined at Snow Hill ridge,Fall from the Conduit, prone to Holborn Bridge.Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood,Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, all drenched in mud,Dead cats and turnip-tops come tumbling down the flood.

No. 239. [Addison.

From Tuesday, Oct. 17, to Thursday, Oct. 19, 1710

-Mecum certasse feretur. – Ovid, Met. xiii. 20.

From my own Apartment, Oct. 18

It is ridiculous for any man to criticise on the works of another, who has not distinguished himself by his own performances. A judge would make but an indifferent figure who had never been known at the bar. Cicero was reputed the greatest orator of his age and country before he wrote a book "De Oratore"; and Horace the greatest poet before he published his "Art of Poetry." This observation arises naturally in any one who casts his eye upon this last-mentioned author, where he will find the criticisms placed in the latter end of his book, that is, after the finest odes and satires in the Latin tongue.

A modern, whose name I shall not mention,145 because I would not make a silly paper sell, was born a critic and an Examiner, and, like one of the race of the serpent's teeth, came into the world with a sword in his hand. His works put me in mind of the story that is told of a German monk, who was taking a catalogue of a friend's library, and meeting with a Hebrew book in it, entered it under the title of "A book that has the beginning where the end should be." This author, in the last of his crudities, has amassed together a heap of quotations, to prove that Horace and Virgil were both of them modester men than myself, and if his works were to live as long as mine, they might possibly give posterity a notion, that Isaac Bickerstaff was a very conceited old fellow, and as vain a man as either Tully or Sir Francis Bacon. Had this serious writer fallen upon me only, I could have overlooked it; but to see Cicero abused, is, I must confess, what I cannot bear. The censure he passes upon this great man runs thus: "The itch of being very abusive, is almost inseparable from vainglory. Tully has these two faults in so high a degree, that nothing but his being the best writer in the world can make amends for them." The scurrilous wretch goes on to say I am as bad as Tully. His words are these: "And yet the Tatler, in his paper of September 26, has outdone him in both. He speaks of himself with more arrogance, and with more insolence of others." I am afraid by his discourse, this gentleman has no more read Plutarch than he has Tully. If he had, he would have observed a passage in that historian, wherein he has with great delicacy distinguished between two passions which are usually complicated in human nature, and which an ordinary writer would not have thought of separating. Not having my Greek spectacles by me, I shall quote the passage word for word as I find it translated to my hand. "Nevertheless, though he was intemperately fond of his own praise, yet he was very free from envying others, and most liberally profuse in commending both the ancients and his contemporaries, as is to be understood by his writings; and many of those sayings are still recorded, as that concerning Aristotle, that he was a river of flowing gold: of Plato's 'Dialogue,' that if Jupiter were to speak, he would discourse as he did. Theophrastus he was wont to call his peculiar delight; and being asked, which of Demosthenes his orations he liked best? he answered, the longest.